Bold Choices
by threeletterwords
Summary: Blaine really really wasn't expecting Not The Boy Next Door to be so... revealing. Not that he's complaining.


A/N~ For , because you asked so nicely. I have no idea if this is what you had in mind but it was fun to write aaand is hopefully fun to read. So yeah read this sucker. Report back.

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Blaine slips past the velvety curtain and stops, sinking back into the shadowed corner in a fireworks display of dopey, love addled smiles and breathless sighs. All the usual symptoms kick in at the sight of Kurt; smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, pulse irregular, pupils dilated, face flushed. He's endlessly amazed at Kurt's ability to enthrall even the least attentive of audience members. And seeing as Blaine's pretty much the most attentive... his abandoned French class is barely a whisper at the back of his mind.

He carefully breathes the dusty air, inhaling once, and then again, and again, and forgetting how to exhale. He bites his lip raw as he traces Kurt's figure onstage with fond eyes. It's a moment before he realizes he hasn't made it past the doorway, and another before he remembers how to work his legs and join the sparse audience.

Making his way through the row and sliding into a waiting seat, he barely has time to cross his legs before Rachel's waving wildly at him from the sidelines. She picks her way through the chairs, apologizing in a stage whisper for her lateness and taking her seat next to him. He offers her a murmured hello and sincere, if distracted smile. Then it's all Kurt again, and he's settling in for his adorable song and dance, propping his chin in a cupped hand and switching on the heart eyes.

This is it. These seconds are the seconds that will make or break them. He can feel Rachel thrumming with nervous energy at his side, can see the elegant posture and scratching pen of Ms. Tibideaux. This is everything Kurt's always wanted, this is what he's been sacrificing so much fo-

Kurt's taking of his pants.

Kurt's-

_Shit._

Blaine's face slides off his palm and he scrambles to right himself as Kurt's - apparently tear away - suit is discarded, and skin tight gold pants are revealed.

He's vaguely aware of Rachel's cheerily knowing stare, and the fact that _his teacher_ is one seat over, but apparently his body didn't get that particular memo.

Kurt continues on with the routine like the the audience can't see every line of him, shimmying, and oh god- thrusting, and Blaine feels like he's being unglued.

Kurt turns and Blaine chokes on his own spit. His hands are clenching and unclenching spastically on the armrest, and it's kind of killing him not being close enough to touch. He feels his throat go immediately dry as memories flit by of doing just that.

And he's climbing onto the piano, of course he is.

Blaine clenches his jaw and resists the sudden, insane desire to shield his boyfriends body from the audiences prying eyes. This is stuff he's never seen outside his bedroom's four walls. Well. Also the kitchen's four walls. And, well, the shower's three walls.

Excellent Blaine, relive all your sexual experiences. That'll help your situation, top notch problem solving.

He slips into a vivid fantasy of ordering the other 3 out of the auditorium and sticking around for a private showing and then slips out just as quickly when his pants get uncomfortably tight.

He feels like his legs are going to give out, and he's suddenly desperate to sit down.

_You are sitting down._

Right.

He gives himself a mental slap in the face, crosses his legs and wets his lips hastily, waiting not-so-patiently for the end of the number, at which point it will be totally appropriate to give Kurt a congratulatory kiss. Or several.

It's not that Blaine didn't know that Kurt was attractive, he's struck dumb by it at least a dozen times a day, it's just that he was in French class. Conjugating and making polite small talk and now there's Kurt with pants that leave zero to the imagination, an even voice and shining eyes, and he's _his_, and he should be used to it by now but he so isn't.

The number is drawing to a close he can feel the final swell of music bringing the melody down, and he's desperate for it. He recrosses his legs and watches Kurt get lost in the final, spectacular note, and he claps a little too hard as it ends.

He half stands on weak legs before deciding against it, sitting down hard and tossing Rachel a sheepish glance.

And then Carmen Tibideaux is talking and he stops breathing again, chest tight and jaw set. Kurt was undeniably spectacular, costume choices aside, and if she has anything bad to say-

"... Bold choice young man."

And Blaine's thrilled, he really is, but also completely done with sitting here when Kurt's all the way over there. He's on his feet in seconds, darting up stairs and behind curtains until he's there, distractedly thanking his 'swans' with a happy flush high on his cheeks. Blaine strides towards him with a purpose and Kurt has a passing moment of recognition and a flicker of a grin before he's swept into a dip and kissed hard.

He can faintly hear the girls tittering through the blood rushing in his ears, but Kurt's kissing him back, pressing in with wet lips, and their audience is forgotten.

Warm hands press flat to his lower back and the nape of his neck, and he breaks away abruptly because they are still, technically, in public.

"Should I be jealous?" A cloud passes over Kurt's face as he frowns.

"Why?"

"Because_ someone_ had to sew you into those pants and it wasn't me and I'm healthily concerned."

Kurt purses his lips against obvious amusement and offers a noncommittal 'hmm' as he drags Blaine away from the leering girls, leaning in once they're clear.

"But that someone didn't get to help me _out _of these pants. That pleasure is all yours."

Needless to say he didn't return to French class that day.

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A/N~ ehee Blaine, I love your brain. My timing wasn't great, I re-watched ntbnd after I wrote it aha hahahaI'manidiot

So yes review the crap out of this and I'll pay you in hyper realistic cyber money.


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